Gaps

‘You know what’ll happen as soon as you set foot on that ship? You’ll start changing. You will. I read about it. You won’t notice it but just being there, it’s not natural for us.’

Hack.

‘Little tiny bubbles will get in between your bones and then the gaps will get bigger and bigger. Your fingers, arms and legs: all of it. And these gaps. Well. They’ll stretch you out, not that you’d notice to start with. Soon enough you won’t be able to fit down those corridors.’

Hack.

‘Think about your kids. They’ll be born without a star. Now it doesn’t take a genius to figure that’d be bad. They’ll be pale and long, with gaps in their bones, drinking recycled piss. All those chemicals. Unimaginable. It’s alien.’

She spat. The globule landed on the side of a bin, Adia watched it slowly trickle down. Her mum lit another cigarette. Ash flew at Adia’s face, she was dusted with a film of her mother’s residue.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Years later, Adia throws away the condolence card. She squeezed out a precious tear and was given the day off.

There were gaps all over her now. She figured they were there to bury these things away.